


Dibs

by missdibley



Series: The Red Nose Diaries [80]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Existing Relationship, F/M, Fingerfucking, Fluff, RPF, Smut, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 15:14:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13616055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdibley/pseuds/missdibley
Summary: Just another little morning romp before Tom and Carmen go about their day.





	1. Chapter 1

It was Saturday morning, the first one in February, and Carmen was alone in her bedroom. She sat at the foot of her bed, dressed in a towel and playing Candy Crush on her phone.

So focused was she on her game that she didn’t hear the front door open, admitting Tom and Bobby into the house after their walk. When they burst into the bedroom, Tom fussing and Bobby yipping happily, she jerked in surprise and so her towel opened as she dropped her phone on the floor.

“Car.” Tom dropped to his knees in front of her, retrieving her phone only to toss it on the bed. While he was down there, he smoothed down the fabric of the towel as she covered up. When he smiled, Tom’s eyes twinkled in the morning sun. “Love.”

“Hmm?” Carmen reached for him, running her fingers along his jaw so she could enjoy the tickle of his beard. “What?”

“I thought you were getting dressed.”

Carmen looked down at herself, patted her still damp hair absentmindedly. “Is this not dressed?”

“You’re wearing a towel.” Tom arched an eyebrow at her outfit, such as it was.

“Almost dressed,” Carmen said. She indicated the clothes — jumper, skirt, tights, bra, knickers — laid out on the bed behind her. “It’s all there.”

“Sitting in a towel next to the clothes you  _ intend _ to wear out is not the same as dressed, Button.”

“It’s close.” She shrugged, then reached for her phone. “Just one more round, and then…”

Tom pushed the phone out of reach, then grabbed Carmen’s wrist gently. “Madame, you and that infernal game.”

Carmen sighed impatiently. “Let go of me.”

“What’s the magic word, madame?” Tom asked.

She tilted her head to one side, furrowed her brow as she pondered. “Now?”

Carmen blinked rapidly, then shrieked when Tom slid his free hand under her towel and tickled just inside her knees. She fell back, her towel unfurling once more, and all of a sudden Tom was lying on top of her. He moved one way, and she another. When he rolled his hips, Carmen spread her legs further but did not close them around him.

Closing her eyes, she focused on what he felt like to her. He felt heavy but lithe, moving lightly and quickly until the two of them were made more comfortable. His hands, still a little cool from the crisp February air outside, sought the heat of her hips and the underside of her back. The metal clasp of his belt felt strange on the bare skin of her thigh.

When Carmen shivered, and she did because she was of course unclothed and her hair still wasn’t dry, Tom tightened his grasp. He snuggled, head pressed against her neck, and chuckled.

“Yer scratching me,” she muttered. “Beard. Your sweater.”

“A small price to pay for the luxury of my body heat,” replied Tom, grinning smugly.

“Your hands are a little chilly, though,” she pointed out, tartly.

“Forgot my gloves,” Tom sighed.

“Or you had a cigarette?” Carmen wondered. “I thought you cut down.”

“I did not smoke.” Tom retorted.

She regarded him, her lips pursing slightly as she focused on his mouth. “Prove it.”

And so he kissed her, his eyelids fluttering shut so Carmen could feel his eyelashes on the tops of her cheeks. He had such a long tongue, and she with such a small mouth, it should have been an awkward fit but it wasn’t. For Tom was supple and limber, tasting her as he was and then arranging their bodies so they seemed to melt into each other. He went one way and now Carmen’s head was cradled in the crook of one arm while the other snaked down her body until his hand rested gently over her mound. “We’re going…  _ oh _ … we’re gonna be late,” she murmured, relaxing even further when he slid that hand between her legs.

“They won’t miss us,” Tom promised, inhaling sharply when with his fingers he felt how hot and wet she was for him. He opened his eyes and smiled. “As you said, love.” He kissed her earlobe.

His eyes never left her face even as he teased her. He slid two fingers up and down over her clit, refusing to quicken his pace even as she ground against him. Between gasps, Carmen urged him to faster. He quieted her, pressing his lips gently to hers.

“Hush,” Tom said, and he began to circle her clit with his index finger. Still careful and deliberate, he studied her face and how it changed with the pleasure he brought. Lips parted and panting, they were swollen from kissing and being kissed. Her eyes glittered, and were darker than usual with their pupils blown wide. Tom felt temporarily lost, the longer he looked into them, but was brought back to himself when she hissed his name.

_ “Tom.” _ She turned her face into his shoulder, revealing the flush of arousal as it crept up from her chest and neck to her face. Her cheeks were pink and when he rubbed his own bearded face against hers, they were hot to the touch.

Again Tom kissed Carmen, mouth open and tongue forceful as he licked and sucked at her tender lips. His nimble fingers teased her sex, slipping inside or rubbing her clit faster, and all the while he watched her face adoringly.

“Come for me,” he instructed her. He felt her shudder when his fingers found that spot just inside her sex, and his thumb pressed down, just so, on her clit.

“Oh  _ fuck _ ,” she sobbed. Her body felt tense because she was close, almost there, and everything in her was alight. United in the desire, in the absolute  _ need _ to come. But she needed more.

Tom craned his head down, sucking on the case of her neck between gentle commands. “Come for me, love. I want you. I want you to come. I know you can. I want to see your face when you do. I’m going to. If you could see yourself right now. Just…  _ god _ … laid out before me and… Yes, my love. Oh. Carmen yes. Yes yes yes. Oh  _ fuck.” _

He could feel it, could feel her. The tension and the heat and the ache in his fingers but also the closure of her thighs around his hand and then he lifted his head to kiss her. Prying her lips open with a sucking breath, Tom flicked his tongue inside and was met with hers in reply when she came. Carmen turned her face away from him but he followed, watching with a sort of ache in his heart as she let go.

He liked this. When it was quiet and all he could hear was her breathing and he could bury his face in her neck and rest. And while he had not sought climax for himself, Tom still felt sleepy and satisfied. He was about to shut his eyes when Carmen squealed.

“No!” She said, laughing and kicking gently. They looked at the foot of the bed, where Bobby had begun to lick the soles of her feet. “Puppy, no!”

“At least he waited until we were done,” Tom mused, stifling a yawn. He peered at Carmen’s face. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” She bit her lip. “Do I have time for another shower?”

Tom checked his watch, and frowned. “Sorry.”

“Jerk,” she teased. “Everybody’s gonna know.”

“What?” Tom pushed himself up to a seated position. He lifted his hip, removing Carmen’s underpants from underneath him.

“That we just had sex.” She shook her head, chuckling. “You’ve got that look.”

“What look?” Tom asked. He checked his reflection in the bureau mirror, mouth quirking when he saw how messy his hair had gotten.

“That freshly fucked look.” Carmen pulled the knickers on, then joined him in looking at their reflection. “See how we look.”

Tom saw it. The matching unruly curls, the bright eyes, and pink cheeks. When she slipped an arm around him, he kissed the top of her head. Pressing his nose, he inhaled the ever fainter scent of her shampoo and breathed: “Perfect.”

* * *

The baby shower was for Michael, a friend of Tom’s from university. He had met his American wife, Kristen, around the same time that Tom had met Carmen, had asked her to marry him within a week of Tom’s first proposal, and they had married a year later. The shower was hosted at their recently restored townhouse, which had immaculate white wood floors and William Morris wallpaper in every room that made Carmen dizzy just to look at it (and wonder how much it cost).

Carmen was surrounded by women who were pregnant or talking about getting pregnant (or “sprogged up” as the English liked to say) or had just been pregnant. They nursed newborns and rocked infants and consoled crying toddlers and handed iPads to school age children who were allowed only to eat organic vegetables and gluten-free crackers. Their partners checked in every so often to make sure they weren’t needed before retreating to the kitchen to quaff beer brewed by their host.

When it came time, the parents to be worked through the pile of presents (the baby bathing tub in the shape of a blue whale that Tom and Carmen had brought drew a chorus of approving sounds from the crowd). As the last bag of excelsior was hauled off to the bins, Kristen’s mother Louise carried in a cake frosted with white frosting.

“Now before y’all go,” she said in a slow North Carolina drawl, “We’re gonna do the gender reveal so last call to place your bets.”

“What?” Tom sidled up to Carmen, who stood in a far corner nursing a cup of fruit punch.

She sighed. “Doesn’t she know gender is a construct so to reveal it before the child has established their gender identity is, well, wrong?”

Tom shrugged. “Or maybe she stands to make a killing in the betting pool?”

Carmen leaned into Tom, her eyes drifting back to the cake across the room.

A sword was produced, much to the amusement of the gathered party. Michael and Kristen, as one, sliced once, and then again. Setting the sword aside, they leaned in to remove the first serving. They turned and held up a white plate, upon which was a slice of bright pink cake.

Michael fed the slice to Kristen, who managed to look beautiful even as she cried happy tears and tried to talk around a bite of cake. “I want to… mmm, that’s good… thank you all so much for coming.”

“Now that we know we’re having a little girl,” Michael said, earnestly. “We thought we’d share with you the name we picked out.”

Louise clapped her hands. “Your naming her after me, right?”

“Almost,” Kristen admitted. She went to the bow window, where two banners had been hung up. Pulling a little rope, one of them unfurled to reveal a name: Rosamund Louise Asher.

“That sounds nice,” Tom said, thoughtfully. He smiled at the obvious delight the announcement brought to the assembled guests, who began to help themselves to cake or took pictures of the banner. When he looked down, ready to ask Carmen if she wanted some cake, Tom was a little startled to find her glaring across the room.

“Are you alright?”

Carmen looked up, her face softening when she saw the concern in his eyes. “Sure.”

“You lie,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her upon the forehead.

“Yes, but I’ll be fine.” Carmen smiled. “Take me home?”

Nodding, Tom grabbed her hand. “Of course.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Carmen have a talk. Some might say it's *the* talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might be useful or just nice to read chapter 2 of "Kind of Blue" before reading this. Link: <http://archiveofourown.org/works/4653450/chapters/10618122>.

They had taken a car to the party, but as the weather was mild Tom and Carmen walked home. In their possession was a large piece of cake, packed in a plastic takeaway box that was too big for either of their coat pockets and even Carmen’s handbag. It sort of bumped around in its container as Tom carried it in one hand, and held Carmen’s hand with the other.

“Who or what were you glaring at?” Tom asked. When she didn’t immediately, he squeezed her hand. “Love?”

Carmen sighed, then leaned her head against his arm. Which was awkward, considering they were still walking but she insisted. “She took my name.”

“Who? Kristen?”

Carmen nodded.

“But you already have a name,” said Tom. “Carmen Paloma DiGregorio.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Carmen huffed.

“I know.”

They continued to walk, pausing at a kerb where they watched a man on a bicycle pedal along the road. After they crossed, Tom spoke again.

“Rosamund Hiddleston?”

Carmen tilted her chin up, looking at him sideways. “You like?”

He nodded. “I like.”

“It’s not after anybody,” Carmen explained. “There isn’t a Rosamund in my family.”

“There might be one in mine. I could ask mum.”

“I just liked the sound of it.”

“It’s a lovely name.”

“But it’s not mine anymore.” Carmen sounded wistful. “I had dibs.”

“Dibs?” Tom made a  _ tsk _ sound with his tongue as he wondered. “I thought that was to do with chairs.”

“No!” Carmen stopped, searching the street where cars were parked. Her eyes lit up when she found a spot, a rarity on a busy Saturday in their neighborhood.

“C’mon,” she urged, pulling Tom to the spot. She held out her hand. “Gimme the cake.”

Tom did as he was told, smiling when he saw Carmen place it carefully on the ground at her feet.

“So dibs…” Carmen began to say, but stopped when Tom held up his hands.

“I am familiar with the concept of dibs,” he said with mock seriousness. “How does the cake play into it?”

“But for this dibs, it’s not cake, it’s a folding chair.”

“A folding chair?” Tom asked.

“Or it’s a traffic cone.” Carmen waved her hands in the air. “A broom.”

“Looks like cake to me,” Tom said, almost to himself.

“The point is…” Carmen looked down at the cake. “It’s a token. A sign that the space is yours.” She looked up, a dreamy look in her eyes. “In Chicago, when it’s winter and there’s deep snow, we dig out spots so we can park their cars on the street near home. But if we have to drive somewhere we don’t want to lose the spot we spent all that time digging out so…”

“Dibs.” Tom grinned. “Cake marks the spot.”

“And the spot is belongs to you,” Carmen insisted. “Because you created that space. You made it.”

“But what if someone else needs that spot whilst you’re away?” Tom knelt to retrieve the cake from the ground. When he straightened back up, he offered Carmen his hand and they continued their walk home.

“It’s too bad,” Carmen said. “If they see the chair or the milk crate that you left, they’re supposed to know to stay away from that spot. That’s the rule.”

“But the important thing is that the other driver  _ sees _ the object, yes?” Tom asked.

“Yeah,” Carmen replied.

“Did Kristen know you wanted the name Rosamund for yourself?”

“No.” Carmen looked up at the sky, frowning at how grey it was.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

Carmen looked slightly abashed. “It would have been silly.”

“What would have been?”

Carmen confessed: “To declare that she can’t use the baby name for a baby that we don’t even have.”

Carmen paused, seemingly taken aback by her own words. She didn’t seem unsteady but just the same Tom took her in his arms. They stood there, taking long deep breaths. Just a moment to think about where this conversation was going.

“Two,” said Tom.

“At least,” Carmen replied. “Not more than four, though.”

“Three, then?”

“Yes,” she replied with a tentative smile. “Four just seems show offy. You know, I read somewhere that having lots of children is considered a status symbol among the super wealthy in New York.”

“Really?”

“Think about it! All that private school tuition and nannies and the mansions or penthouses needed to house such a big family.”

“Is that what you want?”

“No!”

Carmen was aghast. Though only for a moment, as she thought about it some more.

“Well, some of it. Private school sure, but we’re not sending them away.”

“Not even Eton?” Tom pouted.

Carmen blinked a few times. “Maybe. If only because by then they’d be teenagers and on the verge of driving us crazy from being, you know, teenagers.”

“And the mansion?”

“What about one?” Carmen looked around her. She knew they lived in a good neighborhood, a posh one, even. But it wasn’t all big houses and fancy cars. “We’ve got room enough, right?”

Tom scratched his chin. “What if Bobby comes home one day and tells us he’s gotten some nice girl spaniel in the family way?”

Carmen rolled her eyes. “He can’t, remember? He’s fixed.”

“Maybe he’ll adopt.”

Carmen goosed him. “Be serious.”

“Okay,” said Tom.

“I’d like them to be close in age, like you and Sarah.”

“I like that.” Tom took another breath. “So… when?”

“You mean like, when do we start?” When Tom nodded, Carmen bit her lip. “I don’t know.”

“Put it another way, love,” Tom suggested. “What are we waiting for?”

Carmen paused, then tightened her arms around his waist. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t think I don’t know, either. Not anymore, anyway.”

“So does that mean we immediately hop into bed and start ‘trying for a baby’, as you English people like to say?” She asked, mischief in her voice.

“Is that what you want to do?”

Carmen’s eyes softened. “Don’t answer a question with a question, Cambridge.”

Tom brought his hands up so he could hold her face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs along the tops of her cheeks. He smiled.

“It never felt like it was a question, you know.” He rubbed his nose against hers. “Not the if. But the when. The where.” He chuckled. “Even the how.”

“When. Where. How.” Carmen closed her eyes. “Answer those questions and then the next question is…  _ who _ .”

“Whoever they are, I hope they’re like you.”

“Really?” Carmen wrinkled her nose. “Short? Loud? Stubborn?”

“Funny. Chatty.” He whispered in her ear: “Adorable.”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Carmen laughed.

They resumed their walk home, questions having been raised and answered, if not fully then enough to be considered progress. A definite number was now in their mind, and when they arrived home Tom let himself imagine what it might be like. To walk through the door to the sounds of laughing or crying or fighting amongst three small children.

What would they call him? Was he Daddy or Papa? Following Carmen upstairs to their bedroom, he thought that she looked like Mama more so than Mummy.

The bed was still rumpled from their morning, but Tom took care as he turned the duvet down. He removed his shoes and socks, tugged off his jumper and threw it lazily into the closet to sort out later. When he looked up, he saw Carmen standing in the doorway. In her hand she held up a small compact that looked to him like a seashell.

Tom eyed the package. “What’s that, then?”

Carmen peered behind him. “Tom, can you get the bin?”

Tom grabbed the rubbish bin that sat on the floor, just beyond his nightstand. He held it his two hands, taking a seat on the bed and waiting for Carmen to join him.

“My pills. I just checked them.” She glanced at him. “I counted, and it seems I forgot to take today’s. In the rush to get to the party…”

“In the rush to sit in a towel and play games on your phone, you mean.”

“In a rush to fool around with you and then go to the party.”

Carmen flipped the case over in her hands, looking at the bin as she did.

“How do you feel about, not trying exactly, but not preventing it either?”

“Just… let nature take its course?” Tom’s lips quirked into a lopsided smile.

“It’ll probably be a while anyway,” Carmen said. “For my body to adjust after being on the pill for so long. And we should talk to our doctors before we officially get going, I guess. Being middle aged and all.”

“We are not middle aged!” Tom cried. “We’re millennials, I’ll have you know.”

“Just barely, Cambridge.” She tapped the pack against his nose. “I’m thirty nine in March.”

“And I’m turning thirty seven next week,” Tom said.

“So we’ve got some time to ‘not try’ while we discreetly prepare to try for real.”

“Of course,” said Tom.

“Because I do actually want to give birth to our children, if I can do it.”

“You know, I believe that’s the first time I’ve heard you state it so plainly.” Tom smiled, his entire face lighting up. “Say it again.”

Carmen kissed his cheek. “I want to have our children.”

Tom kissed the side of her neck, setting the bin on the floor so he could put his hands on her. He took the plastic case from her, and they stopped, briefly, to give it one last look before he tossed it away.


End file.
